


Brienne v. the Book Club

by Lady_in_Red



Series: Spy Games [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Books, F/M, Sharing a Bed, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly-partnered spies Jaime and Brienne are sent to suburban Gulltown to investigate their handler’s new brother-in-law, Petyr Baelish. It should be a simple assignment, except for two small issues: they’re playing a married couple and they can’t stand each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. and Mrs. White

**Author's Note:**

> Title format taken from spy dramedy "Chuck." 
> 
> This story takes place in the same universe as an earlier ficlet, but much earlier in Jaime and Brienne's partnership.
> 
> Thanks to Miss_M for the inspiration and the beta. All mistakes are mine.

“What’s in here, bricks?” Brienne muttered, wrestling a heavy box off the moving truck.

“Would you put that down? Let these men do their jobs,” Jaime countered, taking the box and setting it on the driveway. Nothing on this truck actually belonged to him or his partner. It held only essential furniture, a few wardrobe boxes, and an array of carefully concealed surveillance equipment. Depending on which analyst had written the specs for their shipment, it might contain a few embarrassing items. Jaime had once unpacked an entire shelf of books before he noticed that they were all Lyseni erotica. 

Brienne glared at him and followed one of the movers into the house. Good. She could micromanage them for a while and leave Jaime alone.

This was a low-level assignment, the kind Jaime could practically do in his sleep. His handler, Catelyn Stark, was concerned that her sister’s new husband might have graduated from running strip clubs with a side of prostitution to something more dangerous. Any rookie agent could handle this.

There was only one reason he and Brienne had been sent to suburban Gulltown to live in this generic little house. After two months as partners, they were still virtually strangers, and their lack of communication was becoming an issue for their handler.

Several weeks working in close proximity would put an end to that or Catelyn would be forced to split them up. Jaime figured that there was a good chance Brienne would blow their cover by punching him in the face within the first week.

"Hello, hello, neighbors!"

Jaime spun, barely suppressing the urge to reach for the knife sheathed at his lower back. 

A plump woman stood in the driveway, holding up a wicker basket like an offering. “We were all so curious when the For Sale sign went away, I couldn’t resist stopping by to welcome you to the neighborhood.” 

“Thanks.” Reluctantly, Jaime took the basket. Cookies, muffins, ground coffee, and a bottle of dark liquor. He offered the woman the bright, false smile he’d learned when paraded about for his father’s campaigns. 

Jaime wasn’t often assigned missions where he had to play nice with people. It wasn’t his strong suit. But he could do it when needed. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Duncan White.” 

She grinned back, unnaturally white teeth flashing. Jaime took a quick inventory. Flat-ironed glossy blonde hair, impeccable make-up that didn't quite disguise the wrinkles which put her age around forty, designer clothes, massive rock on her finger. “Leona Manderly. I live across the street. So, Duncan—”

“Would it kill you to come in and help me instead of standing out there?” Brienne stopped in the doorway, her broad freckled face flushing. To her credit, she covered her surprise and smiled tentatively at the middle-aged blonde woman. “Duncan, I see you’re already making friends.” 

Jaime heard the very real irritation in Brienne’s voice and decided to run with it. “I always do, dear,” he drawled, winking at his partner. “Meet Leona Manderly. Leona, this is my wife, Rohanne.”

Sam had provided them with a backstory, but whether the Whites were adoring or adversarial would depend on the mood in the neighborhood. Jaime could blame this squabble on the stress of moving if he needed an excuse later.

The poisonous glare Brienne shot him was only partly for show. She nodded at Leona, nervously twisting Rohanne White’s sizeable sapphire ring on her large finger. “Nice to meet you,” she said hesitantly. 

Leona Manderly smiled back, but her expression was appraising. Brienne was dressed the part of a wealthy wife, but one who didn’t care for fashion. Donyse in Wardrobe couldn't be expected to work miracles. Brienne wore jeans, red canvas sneakers, and a V-neck T-shirt, all from designer brands and tailored to fit her perfectly. Diamond studs glinted in her ears. 

“I was hoping to invite you two around for drinks,” Leona said, directing her invitation to Brienne. “Once a week, the couples on our block get together, and it would be a great way for you to meet everyone. What do you say, tomorrow at my place?” 

Brienne swallowed her obvious discomfort and replied, “Of course. We’d love to meet everyone.”

 

* * *

  
Brienne would rather endure torture than make small talk. Unfortunately, a couple of drinks (Brienne sipped her wine slowly) had turned into more drinks and appetizers while the ladies giggled and gossiped about their husbands. They were an odd mix, the kind of group clearly bonded by circumstance rather than true kinship. 

Megga Mullendore, the youngest of the wives, was an apple-cheeked girl with a lush figure. She eyed Jaime while she toyed with a maraschino cherry in her drink. “You’re a lucky girl, Rohanne. How did you two meet?”

Brienne glanced at Jaime. His lean, broad-shouldered form was shown to its best advantage in slacks and a button-down shirt. “He and my father went into business together,” she replied, forcing a small smile. “Lucky” wasn’t the word she’d have chosen. Jaime was a good-looking pain in her ass.

"Charming, good-looking, successful," Megga mused, popping the cherry into her mouth. She was the giggliest of the lot, having drunk at least five glasses of sangria. "If he's good in bed too, I'll really be jealous." 

Brienne choked on her wine, struggling to recover her breath before her coughing drew unwanted attention. Jaime's sexual prowess definitely wasn't covered in the background packet Sam had provided. 

Megga snorted, taking her silence as a confirmation. "Of course he is. Just look at his hands.” 

His hands? Brienne hadn’t thought much about Jaime’s hands except when it came to how he handled his weapons. His hands never shook when he took a shot, and she’d seen him throw knives with a precision which looked staged.

“Megga,” Selyse Baratheon admonished, her sour expression puckering further. She turned to Brienne, her pale eyes clearly showing her distaste for Megga's behavior. “Our book club selection this month is a bit racy. We don’t normally discuss such things.”

“Racy?” Taena Merryweather scoffed. The dark-eyed beauty looked like she could entice a man with no more than the sway of her hips. “I hardly think a few sex scenes count as racy.” 

“Just because you don’t want to talk doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t,” Megga pouted at Selyse.

“You should join us, Rohanne,” Lysa Baelish piped up, stepping between Megga and Selyse. “I can e-mail you the e-book. It’s a bit more discreet.”

Brienne could see a slight resemblance between Lysa and Catelyn Stark, but while Cat was willowy, Lysa was sturdy, with a full face and a small mouth. 

Taena rolled her eyes. “We have our fun, but we have reputations to maintain, you understand. Gulltown society is rather small. One whiff of scandal can be ruinous.”

“Just ask Lynesse Mormont,” Megga sniggered. 

“What happened to her?” Brienne asked, but she noticed Lysa’s eyes focus across the room, narrowing as they caught sight of her husband Petyr talking to the Manderlys’ green-haired teenaged daughter, Wylla. Their other daughter was upstairs minding the smaller children.

Selyse followed Lysa’s gaze. “I’ll get Rohanne’s e-mail address,” she volunteered. “It’s getting late. You should get Robin home.”

Lysa nodded, tight-lipped and tense as she crossed the room to her husband. 

The remaining husbands were gathered around the TV watching sports and talking. Brienne caught Jaime’s eye, silently begging to leave. 

 

* * *

 

Even after several hours mingling with the neighbors, Brienne still looked like a trapped animal. Jaime took a mean kind of satisfaction in that. He had no desire to be here either, but her discomfort made the boredom worth it. 

Even so, he was only waiting for Leona Manderly to stop berating her husband over by the bar. Wylis had been stuffing himself with canapes, drinking heavily, and enjoying himself all evening while his wife cooked, served, and cleared empty plates and glasses. As soon as his hosts called a truce, Jaime intended to thank them for their hospitality and escape this little gathering. Everyone seemed friendly enough, but he knew they were all sizing the Whites up, deciding if they would make good additions to this group. 

Jaime still had a long evening ahead of him, reviewing the recordings from the microphones he’d planted in their neighbors’ homes that morning. The builders had used incredibly flimsy locks in the windows. Jaime had been almost annoyed at how easy it had been to break into each house. At least Baelish had a simple security system. Not that it wasn’t easily bypassed, but Jaime appreciated that the man at least put in some effort.

“Orton, I’ve got to thank you,” Mark Mullendore said, turning to the older man half-asleep on the couch. 

Orton Merryweather startled and peered blearily at Mark. “Really? Why?” 

Merryweather had been quiet tonight, but Jaime had spoken with him briefly earlier. Merryweather worked at a local bank and Jaime had wondered if he might be involved in Baelish’s business dealings. He had similar suspicions about Stannis Baratheon, an accountant who hadn't bothered to attend tonight's get-together. So far, both men seemed to be nothing but paper pushers. 

Mark grinned. “Didn’t your wife pick the book for the girls’ club this month? Megga’s been all hot and bothered since she started reading it.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Orton mumbled, getting up and wandering over to the bar where the host couple still argued.

Mark either didn’t notice the slight or didn’t care. He turned his attention to Jaime. “What about you, Duncan? How long have you and the missus been together?”

_ Two months. _ “Three years.” 

Mark glanced over at the wives. “You’re lucky. You’ve got some time before she starts hassling you for a baby.”

“Megga wants a baby?” Jaime asked incredulously. According to the background files, Megga was twenty-four years old, but she could pass for eighteen or nineteen. She was petite, especially standing next to Brienne, curvy in a way that suggested she’d been a chubby child, and her long chestnut curls were gathered in a high ponytail.

Mark was six years older, a big man with coarse features and military tattoos covering both arms and peeking above the neckline of his T-shirt. Earlier he had gleefully told Jaime the gory story behind the wicked scar that ran the entire length of his left forearm. Mark was lying about at least half of it, but since Duncan White had no military training, Jaime couldn't question Mark's version of events. 

Mark took a long swallow of his beer. Like his wife, Mullendore had gotten louder the more he drank. Jaime could easily believe Mark’s story about how they’d met in a college bar in the Reach. 

“She wants a whole litter of kids. Meg’s only got two brothers, but more cousins than I can keep straight.”

“And you don’t want kids?” Jaime guessed. 

Mark leaned toward Jaime and lowered his voice so the others couldn’t hear him. “Not yet. Last week Megga cooked dinner in nothing but an apron and blew me in the kitchen. You think she’s going to do that once I’m sharing her tits with a kid?”

Jaime struggled to keep the disgust from his voice. “Can’t say that ever occurred to me.”

Mark looked over his shoulder at their wives. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. You must be more of a leg man.”

Brienne had strong features rather than pretty ones, and shoulders so broad they made her small breasts look even smaller, but Jaime bristled at the slight against her. He didn’t mind that his partner wasn’t some blonde bombshell. Far from it, in fact, because it meant that Brienne wasn’t pretty enough to take seduction assignments. 

Jaime was handsome enough, charming enough when he cared to be, but he had no stomach for it. He had partnered briefly with Oberyn Martell, whose chosen weapons were pleasure and poison. Jaime had asked for reassignment after five missions. 

Jaime did have to agree with Mark on one point: Brienne did have fantastic legs. “Speaking of legs, I think it’s time I took my wife home. Goodnight, Mark.”

Jaime said his goodbyes and rescued his very relieved partner from the neighbors. She had passed whatever test the women had set for her and been invited to join the book club. Jaime had been invited to play golf with the husbands the following Sunday. 

As soon as the neighborhood settled down for the night, Jaime retreated to their den, where he could monitor the microphones he’d planted and listen to his neighbors’ pillow talk. 


	2. Burn After Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic negotiations, and awkward bedtime stories.

Brienne woke on their second morning in Gulltown to find Jaime curled up behind her, his hand cupping her hip. She liked him far better when he was asleep, but even so, the intimacy of their position was unsettling. Brienne was not a woman who brought men home, and she never spent the night with them. Asleep she was far too vulnerable.

The bed wasn’t big enough for both of them, not if they wanted to keep their own space. Which they did. Brienne had assumed that Jaime would sleep in the second bedroom, but the movers had filled that room with boxes, leaving it inaccessible. The couch had been selected for style rather than comfort, and was not nearly long enough to sleep on.

Tired and out of options, they’d reluctantly slept side by side. The first night Brienne had fallen asleep huddled as far toward the edge of the bed as she’d dared, and still woken with her legs tangled up with Jaime’s, their faces mere inches apart.

Finding herself once again far too close to her partner, Brienne tried to pull away so she could get up. Jaime’s arm briefly tightened around her, pressing his body against hers from shoulders to toes. Including his obvious morning erection.

This was ridiculous. She would sleep on the floor tonight if she had to. Brienne waited until Jaime relaxed again, and slipped out of bed.

Ten minutes later, Brienne looked like she was enjoying a leisurely early morning sitting on their front porch, sipping coffee and reading for the book club. She was also fully engaged in getting out of this thrice-damned suburban nightmare, noting when each of their neighbors left for work, and which car everyone drove.

Brienne needed the distraction from the book. Racy romances weren’t her thing. Too many tiny, useless heroines and heaving bosoms. Adding insult to injury, this novel seemed particularly poorly written.

After a while, Jaime joined her, sitting beside her with his own mug. He yawned and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. He glanced at the tablet on which she’d loaded the e-book. “How’s the book?”

Brienne briefly considered lying. Jaime wasn’t likely to sympathize, since his assignment involved long, boring hours of surveillance. Duncan White was supposedly working from home until his office was set up at the beginning of the month. All Brienne had to do was read a book and go shopping with the local housewives. That’s how Jaime would see it anyway. The fact was that she’d rather fight a wild animal bare-handed.

“Awful,” she admitted. “I can’t tell if Ana is a gibbering idiot all the time or she's just that infatuated with this rich creep.”

Jaime laughed, brought his cup up to his mouth, muttered, “Lysa Baelish,” as a blue minivan passed them.

Brienne toggled between her e-reader and a surveillance program, logged Lysa’s departure. She sipped her coffee, still impressed by the minute details the agency had worked into the household items shipped here. The mug was a souvenir from a helicopter tour of the ruins of Old Valyria. Duncan and Rohanne’s backstory included a two-month honeymoon tour of Essos.

Jaime scratched the stubble under his chin. “It’s a romance novel, so he can't actually be a creep. Either he’s a misunderstood bad boy or an asshole in need of redemption, right?”

“Hadn’t pegged you for a romance fan,” Brienne noted dryly. Action, adventure or mysteries seemed more up his alley, if he read at all.

“My mom was.” Jaime frowned. “And my sister, for a while.”

Jaime had never mentioned a sister. He rarely spoke of his family, just that they were estranged. He cleared his throat. “Mark Mullendore, stupid orange SUV.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “So far Grey’s a little bit of both. Bad boy, mostly.”

“Grey? How original,” Jaime scoffed.

“I don’t think you get to talk about that, Duncan _White_.”

“I didn’t pick the name, _Blue_ ,” Jaime reminded her. “But point taken.”

Brienne didn’t bother reminding Jaime that he was the only one who called her “Blue,” and only because he’d forgotten her name on their first mission. “Blue eyes,” he’d said with a shrug, and it had stuck.

Down the block, a sleek grey luxury sedan pulled out of a driveway. “And there’s Petyr.” Brienne logged the last of their neighbors to leave that morning.

Jaime stood, stretched again, his t-shirt riding up to expose a swath of toned abs. “Just keep at it. I’m sure it’ll get better eventually. If not, that’ll give you something to talk about.”

“Unless they loved it,” Brienne grumbled. It wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t like something all the other women adored. She had seen how the wives had all fawned over Jaime the previous night, but they only knew him as Duncan White. Where Duncan was attentive and affectionate, Jaime was surly and sarcastic.

Jaime opened the screen door and disappeared into the house, calling behind him, “It’s a book, Blue. Not the end of the world.”

 

* * *

  
Jaime had never listened to a duller group of people. They made him itch for a quiet rooftop, his body and mind focused on his trigger finger, the rifle's stock snug against his shoulder, and the narrow view through the sight. His own thoughts were preferable to the endless, pointless babbling of his neighbors.

Leona spent all her time fretting over her husband’s health and her daughter’s green hair. Selyse spent her days going door to door for R'hllor, and her evenings staring into the fireplace after her daughter went to bed. Her husband worked long hours and devoted his free hours to completing complicated puzzles. Orton often read aloud to his son. Mark and Megga watched a lot of reality TV.

Across the room, Brienne was sitting on the couch with her tablet, swiping a cautious finger across the screen now and then. She must still be reading that book.

Her feet were tucked up under her, and her brow was furrowed. While Jaime watched, her expression shifted from irritated to incredulous. She swiped again, and her mouth twisted in revulsion.

His partner was far more entertaining than his neighbors.

As Brienne kept reading, her face flushed first pink, then a darker rose. So she'd reached that portion of the book. It wouldn’t be much of a romance novel without a little sex.

Jaime bit his lip to ward off a laugh. Brienne was squirming in her seat now. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she shuddered. So she was one of _those_ women, the ones who thought sex was dirty and shameful. That figured.

She looked up and noticed Jaime. "What are you looking at?"

He smirked and took off his headphones. "You, embarrassed by reading a sex scene."

Her mouth dropped open for a moment, then snapped shut. "I can read it. This is just ... so not my thing."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "What, did they leave the lights on? Screw in the back of a pickup truck? Join the mile-high club?"

"No, it's just icky," she grumbled, shifting uneasily on the couch.

"Examples, please. ‘Icky’ isn't helpful," he prompted, resisting the urge to point out that “icky” was how small children described vegetables, not how adults described sex.

Brienne hesitated, looked down at her tablet. “He licked her feet. After taking off her sneakers.”

Jaime barely held back a grimace, toyed with his headphones. “Fine, the sneakers were a bit much. That can’t possibly have bothered you so much. You’re bright red.”

She picked at a loose thread on the upholstery. “It’s not just that.”

“You should hear Megga talking about it. I had to listen to her giggle through a phone call with her cousin about how hot it was.” Megga had prattled on for at least ten minutes, steadfastly refusing to give details. (“You have to read it for yourself,” she’d insisted.)

Brienne was finally looking at him, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “It’s not even well written,” she protested.

“That’s not why women are reading this book, Blue. You think guys watch porn for the plot?” He laughed. “Come on, share. It can’t be that bad.”

She blanched. "You want me to read it out loud?"

Jaime nodded. “I dare you.” Anything to avoid listening to Lysa Baelish interrogate a mother unwise enough to invite Lysa’s son Robin over for a playdate. If this embarrassed Brienne, so much the better. She’d spent the last two months avoiding him as much as possible and making occasional digs about his past. Getting under her skin was one of the perks of this mission.

Brienne growled in frustration. "Fine," she muttered, cheeks flushing again. The color spread down her neck and disappeared under the neckline of her pajama top. Haltingly, she read aloud:

> _“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Steele,” he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of my sex. “Hard,” he whispers and he slams into me._  
>  _“Aargh!” I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity.”_

Jaime laughed for a moment, thoroughly enjoying the combination of Brienne’s disgusted expression and stuttering words, before the actual text sank in. He abruptly stopped laughing. “Wait a minute, _that_ was her first time?”

Brienne dropped the tablet on the couch and looked up at him. “Yes, her virginity was ‘a situation to rectify.’”

So the color in her cheeks wasn’t caused only by embarrassment. “Let me get this straight. The hero finds out the heroine is a virgin, and his response is to give her a good hard fuck?”

She nodded. “Twice. After he asked her to sign a contract giving him control over her clothes, her workout schedule, and her food.”

“ _Why_?” Jaime sputtered.

Robert’s campaign managers had once tried to dictate Cersei’s appearance and routines. Jaime could still hear her contemptuous laugh when she’d told him about it. Lannisters knew more about keeping up appearances than any campaign manager.

“Because he’s looking for a submissive, not a girlfriend,” Brienne said with a shrug.

“A submissive? Bodice rippers have changed a lot since my mother read them.” Jaime remembered his mother sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery, the sun making her hair look even more golden, reading her worn little paperback books. The covers had all featured long-haired women with breasts spilling out of their tops, swooning in the embrace of bare-chested men.

Brienne unfolded her long legs, stretching them out in front of her. “No bodices to rip here, although I’m sure he’ll tear her clothes off at some point. Just bondage, spanking, whips, safe words—the usual.” She yawned.

The usual? His plain, straight-laced partner, who blushed and stumbled over her words at the slightest provocation, was the last person Jaime expected to be so blasé about BDSM. Granted, pain was difficult to avoid in their line of work. So was occasional bondage, for that matter, though it generally wasn’t something they submitted to willingly.

“Mark didn’t mention anything like that.” Jaime paused. “And he would have. That man has no filter.”

"Neither does Megga," Brienne agreed with a rueful smile.

She didn’t smile enough, usually so serious and focused. Her smile wasn’t pretty, her mouth too wide, her teeth too crooked. Jaime didn’t mind. Brienne smiled rarely enough that any smile from her felt like a victory.

"Have you heard anything I can use?" Brienne asked, gesturing at his headphones.

Jaime thought for a moment. He'd listened to hours of phone calls and surveillance audio, most of it mind-numbingly mundane. "Well, Selyse and Stannis barely speak to each other. I'm pretty sure Taena is having an affair with a woman at her gym. Mark is still pissed that Megga made him sell his monkey after they got married, but the damn thing liked to crap in her shoes. Lysa is so loud in bed that her neighbors can hear her. Is that what you had in mind?"

Brienne wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why, but I thought Lysa would be more like Catelyn.”

Jaime shuddered. “I’d rather not think about Catelyn's sex life, thank you very much.” He jammed his headphones on and pulled up the recordings from Petyr Baelish’s office phone. There weren’t many calls. Jaime ought to be able to finish these before he slipped out later to plant a tracker on Baelish’s car.

Across the room, Brienne reluctantly returned to her reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All quotes from _50 Shades_ are actually from the book, and do not belong to me (thank the Gods).


	3. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne hits the gym with Megga, and Jaime finds a new way to amuse himself.

The book wasn’t getting any better. In fact, Brienne’s favorite character was Ana's subconscious, which repeatedly warned the heroine about Grey's creepiness. The subconscious, unfortunately, was frequently shouted down by Ana's inner goddess. The pair seemed to function like the angel and demon on her shoulders, as if Ana’s life were a cartoon.

Brienne wanted to smother the inner goddess with a pillow. Or perhaps just Ana, who paid far too much attention to the voices in her head. 

Brienne's eyes flicked from her tablet to the treadmill’s timer. Reading while running was the only way she could force herself to continue. Five more minutes, and the torture would end. Even her runner’s high wasn’t enough to make this book enjoyable.

“What chapter are you on?” 

Brienne stumbled, surprised to find Megga standing by her treadmill. She was smiling brightly, and wore almost exactly the same outfit Wardrobe had packed for Brienne’s workouts: designer yoga pants and a fitted tank top. Megga’s hair was bound up in an artfully messy bun, and either she was wearing make-up or she just looked that fresh-faced and rosy naturally. Brienne knew she would never look like that. She’d rebelled that morning by borrowing baggy running shorts and a T-shirt from Jaime.

Megga pointed to Brienne’s tablet. “Book club, silly. Remember?”

“Oh, sure.” Brienne nodded, adjusting the machine’s speed so she could run and still speak. “I don’t know. I’m maybe halfway done.”

Megga sighed, a dreamy expression on her face. “Isn’t it amazing? I’ve read it three times now, and I never re-read books. I only read for the book club, and I hardly ever finish. Selyse gets so annoyed with me.” She hopped onto the treadmill next to Brienne, setting her book on the shelf below the controls. 

“Amazing” wasn’t the word Brienne would choose. Still, curiosity got the better of her. “What was your favorite part?” 

Megga fiddled with the settings and looked around them. All the other women were wearing headphones. “I don’t think you’ve gotten there yet. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”

“Trust me, you couldn’t spoil it for me if you tried,” Brienne encouraged. Given that she already approached new chapters with a growing sense of dread, knowing what was coming couldn’t possibly make it worse. And who knew, maybe it did get better.

“There are so many good parts. The helicopter, the bath. Ooh, wait, maybe when he surprises her at her mom’s and takes her gliding. He keeps saying he doesn’t do romance, but it’s so obvious he’s falling in love with her.”

Brienne was no expert on romance, but she knew a lot about stalking. It was part of her job, after all. Grey had tracked Ana’s phone right after they’d met, broken into her apartment, and apparently followed her across the country too. If that wasn’t stalking, Brienne wasn’t sure what was. Apparently it wasn’t stalking in Megga’s eyes as long as the man was good-looking and insanely wealthy. 

“He’s clearly very interested,” Brienne said noncommittally, pressing a button to start the cool-down sequence. 

The last thing she wanted to do was listen to Megga rhapsodize about the book, or even worse, start talking about her sex life. The wives had a tendency to overshare that made Brienne distinctly uncomfortable. They’d asked her pointed questions about her husband, and Brienne had finally lied that she couldn’t really compare him to anyone because she hadn’t been with anyone else. 

Brienne was more sexually experienced than Rohanne White. Since Brienne had joined the agency, she’d rarely had trouble finding someone willing to help her scratch that particular itch. But somehow she doubted that those encounters were typical of a long-term relationship, and Brienne had no experience with those. She’d given up on dating in college, tired of men who felt the need to lie about her looks to get in her pants. Brienne knew she was no beauty. 

Megga grinned as she started the treadmill. “Just wait. You’ll see. You and Duncan seemed a little distant the other night. This might help light the fires again.”

Brienne nodded. She had no idea what Jaime might have told the neighborhood husbands about their relationship, but they had naturally fallen into playing Rohanne and Duncan White as being somewhat cool toward each other. They’d have to warm up some to fit in with this group. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Jaime that.

 

* * *

 

Jaime had only watched a few minutes before the body glitter and gravity-defying tits became part of the background. All he saw were the leering men and the vacant stares on the girls’ faces. No wonder the girls were bored. They followed the same routines every time, targeted men for lap dances or time in the VIP rooms with the same handful of enticements. Watching hours of that had been both depressing and mind-numbingly dull. 

Except for one small detail. In one club, there was a hallway with no cameras. Jaime had started taking notes on who went down that hallway. Baelish, the manager, a woman named Ros, and occasionally furtive-looking men. Jaime had sent screen captures of those unknown men to Sam and the analyst team back at headquarters. Until he heard back from Sam, Jaime was in a holding pattern.

Brienne had left him a note on the fridge. She’d been invited shopping and out to dinner with Lysa and Selyse, a prospect she must have hated. Excellent. 

She’d also left the tablet on the couch. Jaime idly picked it up and punched in the security code. The book club’s supposed romance novel filled the screen.

> _ "So wet. You never disappoint, Miss Steele," he whispers, and I hear the wonder in his voice. "Hold tight . . . this is going to be quick, baby." _

Jaime chuckled. Just what every woman wanted to hear. Terrible porn, to be sure, but the rest of it couldn’t possibly be that bad. Brienne had been complaining so bitterly, Jaime’d been half convinced the book must end with the hero killing the heroine. 

He saved Brienne’s place and started flipping idly back through the text. He had a few hours to kill. There had to be something in here he could use to tease Brienne. 

 

* * *

  
Four hours later, Jaime heard the garage door opening. He leapt off the couch, grabbed a Popsicle from the freezer, and dropped back down on the couch with his laptop. 

Brienne came in carrying two small shopping bags and kicked the door shut behind her. She dropped the bags unceremoniously on the floor and yanked open the fridge.

Jaime pretended to ignore her until she dropped into a chair across from him, a beer bottle clutched in her hand. 

“That was the longest afternoon of my life,” she grumbled. "Lysa really loves trying on jewelry." 

Jaime raised an eyebrow at that. "Last time I looked, the Black Pearl didn't sell jewelry."

She scowled at the lingerie-shop bag as he opened the Popsicle wrapper. "They carry sexy workout wear now. Apparently we're never allowed to be comfortable anymore."

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him lazily lick the cherry Popsicle. “Where did you get that?” 

Jaime grinned, then sucked the Popsicle into his mouth, holding Brienne’s gaze while he slowly worked it in and out. 

For the first few chapters, Jaime had worried that the book might not contain anything he could use to embarrass his partner. He’d almost given up after reading the sex scene Brienne had squirmed through the previous night. But then the next chapter had delivered the perfect image:  _ her very own Christian Grey-flavored Popsicle. _

Jaime hadn’t stopped laughing for five solid minutes.

Brienne’s cheeks were pinking up watching him. This was almost too easy. 

Jaime shrugged. “I had a craving. Stopped by the store.” He gave the Popsicle one last long, obscene lick and gestured toward his partner. In his most tempting voice, he asked, “Want some?”

Brienne shot to her feet. “No,” she said emphatically and stomped off down the hall.

Jaime chuckled to himself and returned to his surveillance. Getting a rise out of her was totally worth the hours he’d spent reading. 

After another hour listening to his neighbors’ chatter, Jaime noticed that Brienne hadn’t taken the tablet with her. 

One more chapter couldn’t hurt. 


	4. True Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has trouble with technology and goes undercover at one of Baelish's strip clubs.

Brienne kicked off her shoes by the door, noted the takeout pizza on the counter, the deck of cards scattered on the kitchen table, and the distinct lack of Jaime in the living room. He must be napping or putting together his plan for Friday night.

Jaime was going with Mark Mullendore to one of Petyr Baelish’s strip clubs—the one with the mystery door and the occasional visits from Ramsay Snow, the prime suspect in the disappearance of two girls in the North four years ago. Jaime claimed he wasn't looking forward to it, especially after watching all the surveillance, but what man didn't respond to that kind of wanton display?

Brienne put the extra pizza in the fridge, stood in front of the open door while she considered drinking another beer. Drinks with Taena and Leona had been useful, reassuring Brienne that Wylis Manderly wasn’t involved in Baelish’s schemes.

Taena had also assured Brienne that she didn’t need to finish reading the book, since she hadn’t had the full month to read it. Taena had even admitted she didn’t particularly like the book. She’d chosen it solely to make Selyse uncomfortable.

Taena had noticed that Rohanne and Duncan seemed to be rebounding from the stress of their move, showing more affection, even kissing goodbye at the door when Taena had come by to pick her up.

Brienne was grateful that such small changes had done the trick. She had kissed Jaime impulsively, without talking it over with him first. It wasn’t much of a kiss, just a quick press of lips and a flicker of surprise in Jaime’s eyes before he’d wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her back in for a second, longer kiss.

The man could definitely kiss. Even knowing it wasn’t real, she’d still felt that kiss all the way down to her toes.

It had been months since Brienne had kissed a man—an analyst she’d met in the gym not long after Renly’s death. She and Renly had tried playing a couple on a mission once, a disaster so awkward they’d never tried it again.

The Whites weren’t a disaster. Taena was convinced, at least. Brienne and Jaime’s growing ease with each other wasn’t entirely a lie. After two weeks living together, Brienne had to admit that Jaime wasn't just a smart mouth, a crack shot, and a bad reputation. He was smarter than she'd given him credit for, intensely competitive, and funny. Maybe he wasn't the worst partner ever.

Brienne opted against another drink and closed the fridge. She should go to bed. She should finish the thrice-damned book. When Brienne had shoved it aside this afternoon, Ana had gone to visit her mother, and her stalker boyfriend had flown cross-country to find her.

Something crashed down the hall.

Brienne yanked out the pistol holstered in her boot and made her way carefully down the hall. The guest bedroom where she'd been sleeping was dark and empty, but she could see light coming from beneath the master bedroom door. Pistol ready, she kicked open the door.

Jaime looked up from where he knelt on the floor, already drawing the knife sheathed against his calf. The tablet lay on the carpet between them, its screen shattered.

“You do know I was filing our reports on that, right?” Brienne couldn’t resist teasing him, after all the ribbing she’d taken from him. She glanced around the room, confirming they were alone, and holstered her pistol.

“Shit,” Jaime muttered, tucking the knife away. “Sorry, I just…” He sighed, gestured with some embarrassment at the wall behind her.

Brienne glanced over her shoulder, saw the dent in the wall where the tablet had hit. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

Jaime scrambled up from the carpet, shooting her an absolutely filthy glare. “Drop it, okay? I’ll get Sam to send a new tablet.”

Her interest piqued, Brienne quickly ducked down and grabbed the tablet, tapping the power button to turn it back on. To her surprise, the screen lit up.

Behind the spiderweb cracks filling the screen, the reading app was clearly visible. As was an unfamiliar passage of _Fifty Shades of Grey._ Jaime was reading the book?

“You _knew_ about the Popsicle!”

His green eyes sparkled, and a small smile flickered across his lips before he sighed and flopped back onto the bed. “It was a joke, Blue.”

“A joke? Well, the joke’s on you if you were going to try it again.” Brienne tossed the broken tablet onto the bed beside him. “Taena said I didn’t have to finish it. Thank the gods.”

Jaime laughed bitterly. “But you missed the best parts.”

“The best parts?” Brienne wasn’t actually sure she wanted to hear it. She was certain Jaime’s idea of the highlights was very different from Megga’s.

Jaime stared up at the ceiling, not looking at Brienne as he answered, “He asked the woman who kept him as a boy toy for relationship advice. And since absolutely nothing of Ana’s is outside of his control, he pulled out her tampon so he could fuck her against the bathroom sink. But, you know, since his mother was a crack whore that excuses all of his controlling behavior.”

"He's a prick. I told you that," Brienne pointed out, still not sure why he'd kept reading—well past where she'd stopped—when he didn't have to.

“I’m a prick. This guy’s on a whole different level.” Jaime pushed up from the bed, restlessly pacing the room. “It’s not just him, though. He was honest with her up-front—he gets off on control and pain. But no, of course, she can change him. Why in seven hells are women so determined to change assholes? Why not just find a guy who isn’t an asshole in the first place?”

Brienne bristled. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of a lot of options.” She’d ended up in bed with more assholes than she’d like to admit. But at least she wasn’t looking for romance and wasn’t expecting them to change. Brienne slipped past Jaime and took his place on the bed.

Jaime stopped, leaning against the dresser as he studied her with an oddly penetrating gaze. Brienne belatedly realized she’d shared more than she’d intended. Jaime ran a hand through his hair, leaving untidy blonde spikes in its wake.

When he spoke again, Jaime was quieter, but just as vehement. “He says he wants her to obey him, but really, I think he gets off on her disobedience. Because it gives him an excuse to punish her. He fucking said that he was going to _train_ her, and that’s exactly what he was doing. Breaking her down, getting inside her head, making her think she could fix him, when she was the one changing. He orchestrated her life down to the smallest detail, tracked and _protected_ her like property. She’s not a person to him, she’s just another part of his portfolio.”

Brienne had seen Jaime angry before, disgusted and contemptuous. This was different. This had struck a nerve for him, something personal, though Brienne didn’t know enough about him to say what that was. “Is that why you threw the tablet?”

Jaime’s gaze settled on the shattered tablet screen. He moved to sit beside her, pushing the tablet away from them. “Maybe. Or maybe I just got tired of trying to figure out why Ana kept referring to her cunt as _down there_.”

Brienne laughed. That had bothered her too, but she could tell he was trying to change the subject. "I didn't say it was good writing."

"All the lip biting," he grumbled.

That particular detail had reminded her of Jaime. He did it when he was concentrating. "The murmuring," she added.

Jaime grinned, relaxing. "Fifty shades of fucked up," he drawled.

“His pants hanging off his hips in that way.” She tried to contain a laugh, but an almost girlish giggle escaped, making him laugh too.

“Her inner goddess,” Jaime added between fits of laughter.

Brienne wiped a tear from her eye, catching her breath. “The popsicle thing.”

Jaime grinned. “See, now you want one.”

She shrugged. Not really, but it wouldn’t kill her to go along with his idea for once. “You grab us a couple, and I’ll call Sam. I won’t tell him you threw the tablet.”

Jaime nodded and hauled himself up off the bed. “Thanks.”

Brienne wrestled her phone out of her pocket. Sam wasn’t going to like that they’d broken one of his toys. She’d have to buy him one of those exquisite cakes from the bakery by the King’s Gate when this mission was over.

 

* * *

 

“Why do I have to do this again?” Jaime whined, accepting the roll of one-dragon bills from his partner. 

“I might stand out in a strip club.” Brienne gestured to her plain face and muscular frame.

Jaime chuckled. With her legs and strength, Brienne could probably do insane things on a pole, but this was not the time to point that out.

“You stand out everywhere.” He pushed his tiny earpiece in. Just in case he needed backup, Brienne would be able to hear him. And heckle him, most likely.

“Oh please, as if having some bendy stripper with a massive rack gyrating in your face will be such a hardship,” Brienne scoffed.

“Bendy?”

She shrugged, blushing. “Flexible. You know what I mean.”

The doorbell rang, and Jaime heaved a sigh. He was not looking forward to an evening with Mark Mullendore, but Jaime needed to get a closer look at Baelish’s club. Mark fancied himself an expert on Gulltown’s pole dancers.

“If I order a Red Bull and vodka, you call me and _loudly_ demand that I get my ass home, okay?”

“You need a safe word to go out with Mark?” Brienne chuckled as she followed him to the front door.

“I need an extraction plan,” Jaime corrected, then opened the door.

Mark stood there, eager as ever, keys jangling in his hand. “Let’s roll,” he said with a grin. The grin faded a little as he caught sight of Brienne, standing behind Jaime in her trophy wife uniform of yoga pants and a tank top. “You going to ruin our fun, Rohanne?”

Brienne shook her head. She placed a lingering kiss on Jaime’s cheek, then whispered just loud enough for Mark to hear, “Wake me when you get home.”

Jaime grinned. She couldn’t set him up like that and expect him not to follow through. “Oh, I will,” he said wolfishly, swatting her lightly on the ass for good measure.

Brienne startled, blushing as Mark leered at her in a way that made Jaime’s skin crawl. Jaime got into Mark’s car as quickly as he could, getting him away from Brienne before the man could say something Jaime wouldn’t be able to ignore.

His partner wouldn’t sleep. She’d keep her earpiece in all evening, might even get in her car and cruise the streets near the club, just in case. Brienne had lost one partner, wasn’t keen to lose another. Jaime understood that. While Catelyn Stark had had a feeling her brother-in-law was offering more than lap dances in his strip clubs, none of them had expected to spot Ramsay Snow on the security tapes or the mysterious hallway without security cameras.

Snow was still a suspect in the disappearance of two girls near the Dreadfort years earlier, and human bones were occasionally found in the woods or washed up along the banks of the Weeping Water. None had been identified, yet forensics indicated that most were Essosi. Sam Tarly was trying to found out more, along with delving deeper into Baelish’s business records.

If they were lucky, Sam might find a financial connection between Baelish and Snow. Ramsay Snow wouldn’t come all the way from the Dreadfort just to spend time with Baelish’s dancers, but Jaime wasn’t sure what was going on yet. By the end of the night, they should be in a position to find out.

The club itself was relatively tasteful, furnishings obviously chosen more for easy cleaning than style, dimly lit enough for a man to ignore the other men in the room.

Mark clearly knew his way around, and guided them to what he insisted was the best table in the house.

A waitress in hot pants and a string bikini top took their drink orders, returning with an ale for Mark and a scotch and soda for Jaime.

The thin redhead on the stage danced over to them, bending over to shake her shapely ass in their direction.

Mark tucked a few bills into the girl's g-string as her song ended. She hustled off the stage as the next performer walked on wearing a nearly sheer negligee which did nothing to hide her large brown nipples.

“Megga doesn’t mind you coming here?” Jaime asked skeptically.

Mark shook his head. “Nah, I’ve always done this. Heck, Megga took a pole-dancing class, for exercise, you know.” He smirked. “Got to keep things interesting. What about you?”

Jaime could practically feel Brienne’s attention focused on him. She could hear everything he said through the earpiece, as well as most of what Mark said, but Jaime had to tell Mark something. He would just keep asking.

Jaime had a pretty good idea what would embarrass his partner the most (exhibitionism, no question). They’d spent most of the previous evening alternately ranting and laughing as Jaime had read the last few chapters of the book to her.

“Can’t complain. We do a little roleplay now and then, just to shake things up.”

“Roleplay?” Mark and Brienne asked at the same time. Mark was intrigued, Brienne annoyed.

What were they doing here if not roleplaying? Jaime might as well have a little fun with this. “Rohanne likes to play the fair maiden, the lady imprisoned in the tower, that kind of thing.”

Brienne huffed indignantly. He could just picture her blushing, knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from reminding him how often she’d come to his aid on missions.

“And that’s a turn-on?” Mark asked dubiously. His gaze was pinned to the dancer who’d just removed her negligee.

She winked at Jaime and licked her lips. Jaime took a quick sip of his drink. “It is when the knight gets the maiden as his reward.” He gave a little laugh. “Ask my wife. I’m the best swordsman in Westeros.”

Brienne was breathing hard in his earpiece. Any second now she would start cursing at him, but in the meantime Mark was laughing, and Jaime was grateful for the excuse to join in.

“Just for that, I’m going to tell Megga you have a really small cock. Micro,” Brienne threatened. With a mirthless laugh, she added, “And if you pull that shit again, know that I could pin you to the floor and hold you there, completely at my mercy.”

Jaime’s laugh choked off abruptly. In front of him, the bare-breasted dancer twirled around a pole, clad in only a tiny red thong and towering high heels, but Jaime barely noticed her. His mind was filled with the image of Brienne pinning him down. She could do it. They’d sparred enough that he knew that for a certainty. Long legs snug around his thighs, her weight pressed against his groin, blue eyes bright with triumph as her strong hands secured his wrists.

“Hey, are you okay?” Mark asked.

Jaime shifted in his seat. “Fine,” he muttered. Distracted and half-hard, but neither Mark nor Brienne needed to know that.

The dancer had taken notice of his reaction, swaying her hips with each step as she made her way over to Jaime, a wicked little smile on her face. Long, shaggy dark hair spilled over her shoulders and brushed her large breasts.

“I think she likes you,” Mark said as he ogled her. “Maybe she won’t slap _you_ for a little touching.”

The dancer’s expression faltered for a split second, disgust briefly flickering across her face. Mark had said he was a regular, and Jaime guessed he’d misbehaved with this dancer in the past. But she was a pro, and Jaime looked like a good prospect. He would have to play along a little.

Nothing Jaime couldn’t handle, but the thought of Brienne listening to this chased away any residual arousal. “What’s your name?”

Jaime had intended to use his smarmiest tone with the dancers, to match the way Mark dealt with them, but after seeing the way this dancer had reacted to Mark, he’d changed his strategy. Jaime needed to be the friend along for the ride, the one who wasn’t quite sure he belonged here.

“Raven,” she answered, trailing a manicured hand slowly up Jaime’s arm. She gripped the back of his chair, leaning in so that her breast brushed against his bicep.

“I’ve got a call from Sam. Try to behave,” Brienne said softly in his earpiece, letting him know he’d be without backup for a few minutes. Jaime was more than a little relieved.

The dancer’s gaze followed his hand as Jaime dug the roll of bills out of his pocket and peeled off several. He reached out and pushed the money toward Mark. “Why don’t you get the lady a drink?”

Mark’s face fell. “Oh yeah, sure. What do you want?” he asked, speaking directly to the woman’s considerable breasts.

Raven looked back and forth between the two. “Dornish Sunrise, extra cherries.”

Reluctantly, Mark left them alone.

The dancer turned back to Jaime, her gaze settling on the bills in his hand. After watching all the security footage, Jaime knew how this was supposed to work, and offered her several bills.

Raven tucked the money into her shoe, rested her other hand on his shoulder and lowered herself until she was straddling his lap. “Shall we get to know each other a little better?” she asked, leaning forward to push her breasts closer to his face. “What’s your name?”

Jaime cleared his throat. “Duncan.” He assumed that most men must have trouble looking away from those breasts, because Raven wasn’t even trying to hide the boredom on her face as she ran through her usual patter.

“Well, Duncan, now that your friend is gone, how shall we _spend_ our time?” She was good, working in a subtle reminder that he’d paid for her time and attention. For emphasis, she rolled her hips forward, pushing against his groin.

Jaime’s hand shot out, gripping her thigh to stop her from getting any closer.

Raven’s fingernails bit painfully into his shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

Jaime released the dancer, stuttered an apology. “Sorry, I just—I have a wife.”

Raven’s hand relaxed, and she chuckled. A knowing smile crossed her lips. “A wife who isn't here. And I can be whatever you want.” Jaime recognized that soft, seductive tone, the way she licked her lips. Oberyn had been a master of that.

She leaned forward until Jaime could feel her breath on his face. “What do you like in a woman?”

“Innocence.” The answer slipped out without thought, without hesitation.

“In a woman, not a daughter,” Raven corrected him, leaned back and raised herself up a few inches. Her breasts were still at eye level, but their only point of contact was her hand on his shoulder. If Jaime wasn’t mistaken, she was close to leaving, irritated by his lack of response.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just here because my neighbor wanted to come. _This_ isn’t me.”

“No kidding.” Raven shook her hair back over her shoulders, already scanning the room for a better prospect.

Jaime couldn’t imagine doing this every day, running an endless seduction con on a new mark multiple times every shift. Impulsively, he pushed a few more bills into her hand. “What’s your real name?”

Raven regarded him warily. “Barba,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

Jaime raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Like Barba Bracken?” His gaze flicked briefly down to her chest. “The Teats?”

The dancer favored Jaime with the first genuine smile he’d seen all night. “Clever boy.” She stood, walked around behind Jaime to take the drink from Mark’s hand as he approached. Leaning in close, she whispered in Jaime’s ear, “It’s Hildy. Thanks for the drink.”

 


	5. Mission Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The book club meets.

Brienne stumbled over a loose paver as she walked up the path to Taena’s front door. “Shit,” she muttered, nearly dropping the bottle of Arbor gold clutched in her hand. 

“Easy, Blue. You’re going to be fine.” Jaime soothed through her earpiece. 

She took a deep breath and continued up the path, hoping no one had seen her. “Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re not here.”

Jaime chuckled. “I’d gladly trade, trust me.” 

He was sitting in his car around the corner from Baelish’s club, using a laptop to watch the surveillance feed from the hallway he’d bugged two nights earlier. Jaime had spent most of the afternoon on the phone with Sam down at headquarters, going over what they’d learned. Baelish was indeed hip-deep in some shady business dealings, but so far he seemed to confine his activities to facilitating crime rather than committing it himself. Just the previous evening he’d brokered a deal between a local crime boss and drug traffickers. 

Catelyn had been disappointed but not surprised when they’d called her. Catelyn might have called in the local police then, but traffic cameras at the Bloody Gate had caught Ramsay Snow driving east toward Gulltown. The possibility of taking down Baelish and Snow in one fell swoop was too tempting to resist.

Brienne hated that she wasn’t able to back up Jaime, but Catelyn wanted Brienne to keep an eye on Lysa and her son. The easiest way to do that was to go to the book club meeting as scheduled.

“You don’t have to talk. Drink and nod and laugh when everyone else does,” Jaime reminded her.

His voice was oddly comforting. Just knowing she wasn’t totally alone helped, even if her partner was a cocky sniper with zero tact. He might tease her about it, but Brienne knew he understood that she would rather be anywhere else.

Brienne rang the bell. Taena ushered her into the house, gushing about her wine selection. Jaime offered a soft “told you so” to that, as Brienne had wanted to bring something less expensive. 

A circle of chairs was set up in the living room. Brienne dropped her tablet on one of them on her way to the makeshift bar on the kitchen island. The vast array of bottles and glasses was slightly overwhelming. Brienne needed to stay sharp, but look like she was participating. Too bad. She could use a little alcohol to take the edge off her nerves, but if it affected her judgement she’d never forgive herself. 

Brienne considered pouring a Coke and pretending it had rum in it, abandoned that idea in favor of cranberry juice with a lot of ice. 

Megga came up next to her and poured sangria into the biggest wine glass Brienne had ever seen. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Megga giggled. “It holds a whole bottle. Fun, right?”

Brienne gave a noncommittal hum, and Megga eyed her glass. “Not drinking?” 

So much for that ruse. “Um, I—” she faltered. 

Megga squeaked and grabbed Brienne’s arm. She leaned in close and whispered, “Are you pregnant?”

Jaime coughed loudly in her earpiece. 

“No,” Brienne protested, but the idea was too simple, too elegant, not to use. “Just trying. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Megga set her glass down hard, sangria sloshing out over her hand, but she didn’t even notice. “That’s awesome! Tell me everything. Mark’s dragging his feet like you wouldn’t believe,” she grumbled. 

Brienne felt her cheeks heating, and she whispered fervently, "I'll tell you all about it, but not tonight, okay?"

Megga's pout made her look about six years old. "Why not?"

"Come on,” Jaime teased. “Tell her how often you ravish me, how desperate you are for—"

"Not around Selyse," Brienne insisted. Selyse Baratheon's fertility problems were well known in the neighborhood. 

Megga blanched. "Oh, right, of course." She brightened again, swept up her immense glass and took a swig that stained her lips a dark berry pink. "Then we can talk about the book."

Jaime started snickering. 

Brienne had tried not to distract him two nights earlier, when it had taken him two hours to get away from Mark long enough to plant their bugs. If Jaime kept up his commentary all night, she was going to kill him. 

"Go ahead, I'll be right there," Brienne urged. She took her glass and wandered over to the window, yanked out her phone and held it to her ear as if making a call. 

In her sweetest voice, she said quietly, "One more comment, and I'll tell them you like to be the maiden sometimes. I'm sure Sam could mock up some very pretty pictures for me."

Jaime laughed derisively. "If you think a dress scares me, you have no idea who you're dealing with."

“Rohanne, come sit by me,” Megga called.

Brienne tucked her phone away, retrieved her tablet, and reluctantly took her place between Megga and Leona. A well-worn paperback rested in Megga’s lap. 

“Shall we begin, ladies?” Taena asked. 

An uncomfortable silence descended. Megga flipped through her book, while Leona took an exceptionally long sip of her wine. Brienne picked at her chipped nail polish. It was just like being in school again, hoping the teacher wouldn’t call on her.

Taena heaved an exasperated sigh and pulled a sheet of paper out of her library copy. “I found some discussion questions online. I guess we can start there.” She skimmed the page. “Give me a number, Lysa.”

Lysa looked up from her phone. “Two.”

“How do you feel about the portrayal of sex, particularly Christian's predilection for BDSM practices?” Taena’s gaze skimmed from woman to woman, ignoring Megga, who’d actually raised her hand. 

Lysa laughed. “My husband owns strip clubs. It would be tough to shock me. I mean, if Petyr had had a room like that when we started dating … that’s not the kind of thing I would want Robin to stumble across.”

“But she doesn’t mind the kid hearing her screaming orgasms?” Jaime scoffed. 

Brienne sipped her drink and avoided looking in Taena’s direction. 

“I’ll say it, it was hot,” Megga piped up, fanning herself with the book. “There’s something so sexy about a man who knows what he wants and takes it.” 

“Selyse? What about you?” Taena prompted. Brienne got the impression that Megga had a tendency to monopolize these discussions the way she steered most conversations back to herself. 

Selyse looked like she might have had a few drinks already, her eyes bloodshot. Or maybe she’d just been staring into the fire again. According to Jaime, she did that a lot. “I enjoyed it,” Selyse offered solemnly. “Voluntarily giving up control to a higher power can be profoundly fulfilling.”

Taena rolled her eyes and held up a hand to stop Megga from asking her to elaborate. “Leona, pick another number please.”

Leona cleared her throat. “Eight.”

“Is Ana the submissive partner in the relationship, sexual or otherwise? Would you say she's an equal partner, or is she dominated by the older, more powerful Christian?”

Leona frowned, started to speak, and paused. “I have to say, as I read this, I kept thinking about my daughters, and what I would think if they were in a relationship like this.” Lysa and Taena laughed at that, and Leona hesitated again. “I would say Ana is submissive. She obeys him in the bedroom, yes, but it’s more than that. She calls him a control freak, but she still wears the clothes he chooses, lets him sell her car, listens when he tells her to eat.”

“But she doesn’t sign the contract,” Megga protested. 

Taena gave her a pitying look. “Powerful men come with expectations, contract or no. The right hair, the right clothes. It all matters.”

Brienne remembered the argument she’d had pre-mission with Donyse, who’d insisted on the large sapphire ring, the manicure and pedicure, the lengthy hot oil treatment for her hair in addition to the insanely expensive, perfectly tailored clothes. 

"I agree with Megga for once. Christian falls for her. It's not just about domination," Lysa said. 

Leona frowned. "I wouldn't go that far. He's intrigued because she doesn't immediately give in. That's not necessarily love. Fascination, maybe," she said dubiously. 

"I can prove it," Megga insisted, snatching up her book and flipping through it.  "Here." She cleared her throat and read aloud. 

> _ "You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun," I whisper. _   
>  _ He gasps. "Well, I think you've got that the wrong way around," he whispers. _   
>  _ "What?" _   
>  _ "Oh, Anastasia, you've bewitched me. Isn't it obvious?" _   
>  _ No, not to me.  _ Bewitched  _. . . my inner goddess is staring openmouthed. Even she doesn't believe this. _

“See? She’s bewitched him.” Megga smiled triumphantly, checking first with Lysa. Her smile faded as she saw that the others remained skeptical. Megga grabbed Brienne’s hand. “You see it, right, Rohanne?” 

Brienne’s heart sank as the women’s attention focused on her. “Isn’t that a line from  _ Pride and Prejudice_? Besides, I don’t know that Christian knows how to love,” she said slowly. “His relationships have all been based on sex, not affection.” 

She could have continued, but Megga’s wounded expression stopped her. 

“But they get married! They have kids. They’re  _ happy_.” Megga thumped the book against her open palm. 

“They do?” Leona asked. “I thought the book ended with their break-up?” 

Brienne could still see the outraged expression on Jaime’s face when they’d reached the end of the e-book and come across an ad for the next two books, the summaries clearly indicating that the couple married. If he hadn’t already been reprimanded for breaking the first one (Sam hadn't believed for a minute that Brienne had dropped it), Jaime might have thrown the tablet again. Instead they’d settled for binge-watching  _ Homeland_, mocking Carrie's terrible spying and improbable love life while sipping glasses of the strong Pentoshi liquor Brienne’s father had favored. 

“It does end with the break-up,” Lysa clarified. “They get back together almost immediately.”

Taena dropped the discussion questions onto a side table and turned to Brienne. “Duncan is quite a bit older than you. Don’t you think on some level most women want a strong man to protect and provide for them?”

“No,” Brienne protested automatically. Jaime, and by extension Duncan, was close to 15 years older. Taena’s husband was at least that much older than her. 

Taena looked skeptical. "Duncan supports you, and I'll eat this book if you can honestly say you didn't have to sign a prenup. That's a contract, sweetling, dictating your behavior and the consequences." 

Brienne tried to gather her thoughts, rattled by the turn the conversation had taken. She hadn't prepared to defend the Whites' marriage. 

A thought popped into her head, and Brienne blurted out, "So your adultery clause specifies men, does it?"

Taena blanched, and the other women stared open-mouthed. Taena saw their reactions and focused on Brienne, a feral glint in her eye. "You want to talk about our marriages? Whose husband had a stripper grinding in his lap a couple nights ago?"

Brienne was shaking now, knowing the next attack would be on her looks, knowing she'd blown her part in this assignment. She couldn't spend the rest of the evening with these women, who would never truly forget this argument. Except Megga, whose small fists were clenched and her eyes narrowed, waiting for one more word to strike out at Taena.

"That's enough. I’m sure Rohanne didn’t mean anything by that," Leona snapped, patting Brienne’s knee. 

Taena laughed bitterly. “Sure, she didn’t  _ mean  _ to imply I might be cheating.” She sipped her wine. If she clutched the glass any harder it would break. “And I am certainly not implying that Duncan isn’t satisfied by his virgin bride.”

“Gods, do you have to be such a bitch all the time?” Megga asked, shooting Brienne a sympathetic look.

Brienne was still stunned. Ten minutes ago everything had been fine. This had gotten out of control fast. “Megga, it’s okay,” she insisted. 

Lysa was whispering to Taena, and Taena at least looked slightly calmer. 

“Blue, I need you to get to our house. Now. My video feed just cut out and Snow is here. You have to check the other cameras.” Jaime’s voice in her earpiece startled her. She’d forgotten he was listening. 

Brienne got quickly to her feet, clutching the tablet in her hands. She didn’t need to feign embarrassment. This whole night brought back far too many memories of middle school and high school, being forced to work on group projects while the other girls treated her like she had greyscale, couldn’t get away from her fast enough. 

“Thank you, ladies, for inviting me, but I’m going home now.” 

Brienne would have just gone, left it at that, if not for Taena’s smug little smirk at driving her out. She’d seen that look so many times over the years, from men and women alike. But here she wasn’t Brienne Tarth. And Rohanne White might be big and awkward, but she wasn’t alone.

“You know what, Taena? I’m sorry if you need to look outside your marriage for happiness, but I don’t. He drives me crazy sometimes—okay, most of the time—but if I need something, he’s there. We’re partners.” 

 


	6. Clear and Present Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime makes his move at the club.

Jaime had never missed his rifle more. He’d left his car parked around the corner and gone into the club, taking a table in the back. Staring at that damned dark hallway, knowing  _ something  _ was likely happening just out of sight, was driving him crazy. He needed to focus, and narrowing the whole world down to the circle of his rifle sight was the best way he knew how to do that. 

Just before the video feed cut off, Baelish had taken an Astapori dancer into his office. While Jaime had tried to reboot the cameras from his laptop, Sam had called. His review of Baelish’s business records had turned up an odd pattern. While high employee turnover wasn’t unusual in a strip club, Baelish’s Essosi dancers had a habit of disappearing abruptly about twice a year. Those disappearances matched up with large deposits in his personal Iron Bank account. The last dancer had vanished seven months ago. 

Ideally, Jaime would have turned over all of this evidence anonymously to the local police, but then Snow had shown up at the club. If that dancer vanished tonight, Jaime wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

What was taking Brienne so long? He needed to know if she could still see the surveillance feeds. Brienne hadn’t said a word since leaving Taena’s house. He strained to hear her pull out her keys, the door opening, anything, but the music in the club drowned it all out. 

"No, no, no," Brienne cursed in his earpiece.  

The hairs on the back of Jaime’s neck stood up. The last time Brienne had sounded that panicked, she'd found a bomb with two minutes left on the timer. “What?” he prompted, keeping his voice low. The closest patron was two tables away, but he couldn’t afford to be overheard.

Jaime heard her deep inhale, waited for the long exhale. She did this in the field. It was irritating as fuck when they needed to  move  and Brienne needed a second to get her focus back, but right now he wished he could focus that easily.

“Static,” she said, her voice clipped. “The feeds at that club are all static. What’s going on?” 

“Sam and I think Baelish is selling women to Snow. They have one in the office right now, but we need proof before we tip off the police. I can get in there.” He turned on the voice recorder on his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. If this went south, at least there would be a record to use against Baelish and Snow. 

“No, not without backup,” Brienne protested.

Ignoring her, Jaime reached under the table as casually as he could to pull his pistol from the holster around his calf. "Get back to Lysa, watch over her and the boy.”

“Jaime, please. Let's just call the police.” More than the plea in her voice, his name rattled him. Brienne was better than that. She never used his real name during a mission. She rarely used it at all. 

“Blue, protect Lysa. Let me handle this.” While Jaime had been pleasantly surprised by Brienne’s defense of him and their partnership to Taena (and he was under no illusions that her words had anything to do with their covers), this wasn’t the time for his partner to go soft. 

Pistol now hidden in his coat pocket, Jaime got up and walked along the back wall toward the dark hallway. At least Baelish didn’t have a guard stationed there. That would draw too much attention, though Jaime was sure someone kept an eye on it. Possibly the manager, Ros, who was tending bar. Jaime waited until she was busy making a drink to slip out of sight. 

Just in case he was followed, Jaime ambled down the hall looking at each door, as if he didn’t know which one was Baelish’s office. He just wanted to say hello to his new neighbor, of course. The correct door was easy to spot. It was steel, not particle board. Last time Jaime had picked the lock on this door. This time, he knocked. 

Jaime wished he'd thought to splash a bit of alcohol on his hands so he’d smell like he’d been drinking, but it was too late. A dopey expression and unsteady walk would have to be enough. People were far less suspicious of drunks. 

No one answered, so he tried the handle. Locked. He knocked again, harder this time. When another minute had passed, Jaime glanced back down the hall, toward the bright lights and blaring music of the club. He was still alone in the hall. Having done it once before, picking the lock was easy this time.

Jaime took one deep, steadying breath, pulled out his pistol and opened the door. Using the door as cover, he peeked around the edge, weapon first. 

The room was empty.  

He slipped inside, locked the door behind him, cursing under his breath. “There’s no one here,” he told his partner.

“I’m checking the Baelish house,” Brienne said tersely. “Lysa’s not with the group at Taena’s anymore.”

This office shouldn’t be empty. Jaime had seen Snow walk down the corridor, from which there were no exits. The room wasn’t silent, though. Jaime pulled out his earpiece. Brienne’s breathing was distracting him. 

Where was that loud hum coming from? Maybe a computer fan. Jaime went to the desk and woke Baelish’s computer. The hard drive was formatting. 

Bugs malfunctioning, computer formatting, and his targets missing from a locked room. Their covers were blown. 

Jaime yanked out the computer’s power cord. Maybe the tech geeks could salvage something. As he put the earpiece back in, he heard Brienne’s frantic voice.

“—car’s not here. Godsdamn it, are you listening to me? Lysa and Robin are gone.” 

“Call Sam,” he snapped. “See if he can get the police looking for them. I need to figure out how three people disappeared from a locked room.”

Jaime’s mind was racing, trying to spot where they’d gone wrong. He could hear Brienne calling the home office, registered the guilt in her voice. Of course, Brienne would blame herself. Catelyn Stark had taken his partner under her wing, mentored her and helped her hold it together after Brienne’s previous partner had died.

Jaime found his bugs exactly where he’d left them, and a signal jammer in Baelish’s desk drawer. The strip club mogul had probably done a bug sweep prior to Snow’s arrival. Petyr was smarter than he acted. When they’d first arrived, Jaime had been certain they’d find that Baelish was sampling his own wares in addition to pimping out his dancers. That didn’t seem to be the case. Petyr seemed far more interested in money than sex. Ironic considering his wife’s enthusiasm for the latter.

While Baelish didn’t partake, the security footage had confirmed that the dancers gave plenty of head and handjobs in the VIP rooms. Luckily Mark’s enthusiasm for that service had given Jaime the time he’d needed to plant his bugs. If the dancers were doing more than that, it was happening off-site. Besides, Jaime doubted that was the service which brought Ramsay Snow all the way here from the Dreadfort. 

There had to be another way out of this office. Jaime made his way around the room, picking up rugs and looking behind pictures. Nothing. He scanned the walls, looking for panels or gaps. He almost missed the hidden hinges along one side of a heavy bookcase. 

The bookcase swung smoothly out from the wall, the door behind it opening to reveal stairs going down into darkness. “I’ve got something here, Blue. Is Sam sending the cavalry?”

“Sam’s still working on the cops. They’re interested in the VIP room footage, though it’ll be inadmissible, so they’ll have to run their own investigation unless we can get them something more. Catelyn’s on her way. An hour, maybe less,” she answered, clearly frustrated.

“Unplug all of their computers, check Petyr’s home office. Maybe you can figure out where they’re headed,” Jaime suggested. Leaving his phone recording, he turned its flashlight on and started down the stairs, his pistol still held out in front of him. 

Halfway down the stairs, Jaime found a torn scrap of cheap glittery fabric, and a smear on the wall. Blood. He broke into a jog when he reached a tunnel at the bottom of the stairs, stretching dark and silent ahead. 

He startled when Brienne spoke up. “The Eyrie. I think they’re going to the Eyrie. I’m directing Catelyn to go directly there.”

Jaime grunted an acknowledgement, kept going. He could see more stairs ahead, a broken high-heeled shoe at the base of them. He sprinted up the stairs, killing his light as he reached the top. There was another blood smear on the door handle. He tried not to disturb the evidence as he opened the door, emerging pistol-first into a dark alley. 

As his eyes adjusted, Jaime realized he was standing behind the Pentoshi restaurant next to the club. A few beat-up old cars with delivery signs affixed to their roofs sat idle in the lot. Baelish’s private lot was right next door, but his sedan and Snow’s dark SUV were missing. 

“Damn it. I missed them,” Jaime swore, grateful he was still holding on to the door, keeping it open behind him. “Either Snow or Baelish has one of the dancers. She’s hurt, so I doubt Baelish is bringing her to Lysa. Odds are Snow has her.”

“I’ll ask Sam to call in a tip to the Vale highway patrol that Snow’s carrying drugs,” Brienne offered. “The police should be able to grab him at the Bloody Gate.”

Jaime retreated back into the tunnel. “I should stay here, see if I can find a reason for the cops to shut this place down tonight. Maybe even start looking for Baelish.”

“Do you really think he sold that girl?” Brienne asked hesitantly. 

“Yes, and I think Snow plans to kill her. He’s done it before.” Jaime wished this were still a simple reconnaissance mission or even target elimination. Given what they knew about Baelish now, the man surely deserved a well-placed bullet.

“Gods,” Brienne whispered. 

Jaime turned off his phone’s recorder as he made his way back down the tunnel. “Blue, I’m going off comms. I need to search Baelish’s office. Call me if you need anything. Otherwise I’ll meet you back at our house.”

Brienne was quiet just long enough that Jaime almost asked if she was still there. “Sure, of course. See you then.”

Jaime needed to focus on the mission, not how Brienne was reacting to it right now. They had to trust each other to do their parts even when they weren’t in contact. 

Baelish’s office, even without the computer running, offered Jaime plenty of distraction. The shredder in the corner was filled with enough paper scraps to keep forensics techs busy puzzling them back together for weeks. Legitimate business files had been left untouched, so hopefully they would be able to tie Baelish’s missing dancers to the bodies found around the Dreadfort. But Jaime still couldn’t get the police through the front door tonight. 

He needed a witness. Jaime went back out to the main room, discreetly flashed some cash at Hildy, and brought her back to Baelish’s office. She was smart enough to understand which was the winning side here, and gave up plenty of incriminating details, once Jaime explained that Baelish had left town. 

Hildy’s statement was enough to bring the police to the club. Jaime left the evidence he’d collected in the office, including DVDs of surveillance footage. A stack of cash for Hildy kept his name out of her statement, and he slipped away before the cops arrived.

Jaime wasn’t surprised that Catelyn Stark had opted to go straight to the Eyrie. Her sister’s safety was why they’d gotten into this mess in the first place. But that left Brienne sitting at home alone. Over an hour had passed, and he hadn’t heard from her. She was likely brooding and overanalyzing everything they’d done since they’d arrived in Gulltown. 

Jaime found her curled up on the couch, her arms wrapped around a pillow. She’d been biting her lower lip again, and her eyes were unfocused. She looked  _ small_ _._ How could a woman that large look small? 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jaime suddenly regretted not keeping his comms on. She should have called him if something had happened.

Brienne looked up at him, her lip trembling. “The police caught Snow, and our agents caught Baelish.” Her voice was hoarse.

“That’s great. So you were right, he did go to the Eyrie.” 

Brienne looked away. “Lysa is dead.” She took a shaky breath. “Catelyn is on her way here with Robin. What am I going to tell her? She asked us to make sure her sister was safe, and we got her killed.”

Jaime sat down beside her, but he didn’t quite know what to do. He had little experience comforting anyone, and for all the affection he’d shown Brienne lately, that was all part of their cover. He patted her back awkwardly. 

“We also stopped Snow. And now the police have reason to search the Dreadfort.” It didn’t negate whatever had happened to Lysa Tully Baelish, but the mission wasn’t a total loss.

Brienne nodded, but she looked no happier. 

They sat together for a long time. Jaime resisted asking her for details she wasn’t ready to repeat, but he had the distinct sense that this moment was the calm in the eye of the storm. 

The doorbell rang. Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand briefly, waited until her bright blue eyes were watching him. “Don’t you do anything stupid here, okay? No falling on your sword for me. I planted those bugs, that’s probably what tipped him off. If Catelyn wants someone to blame, this is on me.”

The worry and guilt creasing Brienne’s forehead eased slightly. “There’s plenty of blame to go around,” she reminded him. 

Jaime walked to the door and opened it to Catelyn Stark. He only needed to look into her anguished, tear-reddened eyes to know that this conversation would not end well. 

Catelyn followed Jaime into the living room, where he took his place at Brienne’s side. They’d failed in their primary mission, but the secondary mission had succeeded. He and Brienne weren’t strangers anymore. They were partners. They would face Catelyn’s wrath together.

 


End file.
